From Ashes to Immortality
by cdewinter78
Summary: Missouri Mosely faces an unknown assailent, in her desparation she reaches out to a vertran bodyguard in the Hunter ranks; Bobby Singer ... and how does he answer that call? By sending her the Winchester Boys! Set in season one - AU story where Sam and Dean crosspaths with Missouri again
1. Chapter 1

**From Ashes to Immortality (ch1)**

Many people walk round the world picking up only the faintest film of detail in their environment. The flotsam and jetsam of life; of bills and barbecues, and annoying neighbours and the 'To Do' list that manages to grow longer each day, crowds out our natural instincts. We notice the dust and leave the substance to side swipe us, looming large and crashing suddenly into the arena of our awareness. Then we bemoan the way life, "blind-sided us". When it is we, who are truly sightless.

Missouri Moseley did not have this flimsy excuse. She not only lived by the data she gleaned from her sharply honed senses, but she used the full benefits of her genetically grown psychic abilities; her sixth sense, to both make a living – and stay alive. It was like her Momma always said; "When you glimpsed what lurked behind the curtain, it sure as hell got a good peak at you too".

Missouri had lived on her own for decades now, since the passing of her Momma. Her Kansas home had been well fortified through the generations by the Mosley family. It had been the safest spot for the then, 25 year old witch just coming into the full bounty of her abilities. As she bade goodnight to deluded Mr Gunderson whose dreams of fame and fortune were never likely to materialize short of some televised police car chase, she subconsciously pulled her shawl protectively round herself. The weather was pleasant for this time of spring, and the source of her discomfort was a cause for concern. She could not quite pinpoint the feeling of foreboding that curled round her and made her shield herself securely behind her family home's heavy redwood door.

Hastily making her way towards the kitchen to grab some salt, the psychic deliberately checked the various charms and sigils guarding against any direct supernatural attack. From room to room her keen surveillance showed that none of the subtle markings had been tampered with, but the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach continued to grow. Most people would probably laugh off the prickling sensation as nothing more than the hee-be- jee-bees. But Missouri was not most people and took her intuition and her gifts seriously.

Grabbing the industrial sized rock salt from the condiments cupboard, she made her way back towards her supernatural arsenal of sorts in the living room. The iron fireplace tools had seen more than their share of work over the years; before she had made the rule about limiting the seances held on her property to four a year. Just as she entered the rusticly decorated living area... the lights went out.

Missouri's breath hitched in her throat and came out as a feeble little gurgle. It was not that she was new to being in perilous situations – they were just par for the course when you had the gift or chose to use it in the service of hunters. But there was normally at least a flickering warning that proceeded the darkness. She found herself wondering if this now ruled out spirits as her mystery would-be assailants.

Dropping to her knees, as a precaution she crawled the short distance to the telephone table. The ominous silence from the handset told her that her electricity wires were probably not the only thing that would need repairing – that was assuming she would be around after … No thinking that way was a sure-fire way to wind up dead! She scolded herself, even though her heart was pounding out a jazz percussion in her ears about now and her mouth was so dry, wiping her tongue across her lips had a cheese grater sensation to it. Damn it! Yes she was psychic but she was no supernatural action woman – that was why she helped all those plaid clad boys with guns for!

Missouri found herself feverently praying that anyone of the seasoned hunters she had aided over the years would burst through her door right about now, because fear was fast becoming her enemy. She could not afford her senses to be clouded by her fear, or she was as good as a blind cowering, helpless woman alone in the dark – and that was** not** who her Momma raised!

Firming up her resolve, she started to move physically and mentally. You were only dead meat when you stayed dead still … or some such Rambo non-sense, when she remembered which alchol fuelled hunter's handbook that came from … she'd embroider it on a pillow for them! Now where had she put that infernal mobile? She had one Robert Singer on speed dial!

Still at a crouch she began digging her hands into the jacquard material of her Momma's favourite armchair. She liked to sit there when doing readings; not only did it help give an imposing impression, but she would often get the faintest hint of her mother's perfume. Right now however, kneeling on the rug, hands scrabbling frantically in the dark for her lifeline, Missouri didn't much care what kind of impression she was giving!

Her hand brushed a cold smooth object and she almost crowed in triumph.

" You just wait Caspar – I got a friend who's just dying to set you straight!" she mumbled even as she punched number two viciously.

The answer on the other side was quick, but groggy sounding.

"Hello? Missouri?" the gravelly voice of the older man enquired in a daze.

"Bobby – I need you, there's... some... one or thing come for me! When can you get here?"

There was an unhealthy rasping cough on the other side before she heard a muffled conversation – which she assumed was distorted because he had covered the phone. Briefly the sound of a short – sharp disagreement could be heard, and Missouri caught a brief psychic impression of a large red-headed nurse in her fifty's with orthopaedic shoes. Bobby was out of commission. Her blood pressure went up three notches.

"Listen woman" Bobby's gruff voice held only half the venom his words promised " I'm a grown man – I KNOW what bed rest means … I Will NOT GIVE UP my phone so you can tell Heckle and Jeckle over there in the corner to drop that brain wave before I hide it somewhere _real_ personal on _their _person!"

Missouri rolled her eyes but didn't bother joining the verbal fray. Instead she popped her head up cautiously scanning the room for apparitions or other tell-tale signs of paranormal activity.

"Missouri – you still there? I can't dance worth a lick right now, but get yourself to the basement and wait there till I boys to you. They are hunting near by."

She didn't need to ask which "boys" as just then she picked up a line of images; a tricked out laptop, an over sized sneker, a battered leather jacket and a sleek black muscle car. Winchesters!

The psychic had only met the two young Winchester boys a few months back, and apart from Sam's as yet untapped psychic abilities, she had been a little underwhelmed. Oh their Daddy had trained them well – they were just so new. Even the hard case elder brother new far less about the battleground he had taken up arms on than he realised. She was about to voice her concerns when Bobby's mobile went dead. Her heart sank – Bobby as Cavalry was a familiar thing to her, she had trusted him before and never been let down, but these boys...

Safe to say that, when the weighty feeling of dread in the air gave way to the brick smashing through her living room window; Missouri knew it was an entirely worldly threat. Any attempt on her life from an 'otherworldly' source would never seek to scare her. Oh no if her supernatural enemies finally decided that she was an obstacle, they would not make the mistake of

leaving her alive. They were not that foolish. So now the question became... who was?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N;** Thanks to all who are following this story, and especially to gr8read for the confidence boost! LOL. This story is slightly AU in that it assumes that Bobby never dropped out of the Winchester's lives after his falling out with John, and takes place shortly after 'Home'.

Oh and in case you were wondering, I don't own Supernatural – shocker, I know!

**Ashes to Immortality ch2**

Dean groaned gutturally bouncing his slightly hot forehead off the scum ridden mirror in the truck stop mens room, he had been forced to stop at.

"Ugghh … Son of a Bitch!" he moaned.

The steadily growing pain in his mouth had started to wake him at night, and manifested itself in the foul mood he'd inflicted on Sam today. He was being a major jerk, and he knew it. As the pain went up a notch; it made him hiss whilst grabbing his jaw in one hand and patting down his jeans pocket frantically with the other. He fumbled out the small pill bottle he'd lifted from the Meds kit without Sammy noticing. Throwing two back with a snap of his head, dry swallowing mercilessly. He needed to get back to normal, cause Sam's bloodhound skills would start to kick in. Besides there was only so much of the poor kicked puppy look he could take from his little brother.

Cracking the bones in his neck he viewed himself in the mirror. The pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, although stark were not unheard of in the hunter's line of work. Usually though they came as standard with a night long bender at a local bar, raising funds at the card or pool table or a stakeout for a hunt. He'd probably need to go fishing for funds soon. Hence he'd kept the pill intake at recommended levels – drinkers were considered a safer bet to gamble against at the pool table. He knew that drinking whilst taking the plutonium grade pain killers he'd downed was not smart. But it wasn't the first time in his life he'd plotted a tight course between what was good for him and what they needed to get the job done. They were down to their last tank full – and once his baby had, had her fill, he couldn't see his little brother go hungry. Unless he missed his guess – Sammy was no stranger to sacrifice either and had skipped more than the odd meal for the past couple of days.

A sharp rap at the door startled him and made his response cruder and rougher at the edges than need be.

"Jeez, your a Jerk sometimes!" Sammy's slightly hurt but mostly annoyed voice drifted through the door. "You left your phone out here and missed a call from Bobby."

"Shit" the elder Winchester berated himself – dumb move. Leaving the hunter's lifeline in the car like that was breaking one of Dad's cardinal rules.

Pushing the door open roughly the elder Winchester put his best game face on deciding Sammy really did deserve a break. His smile was bright and had just the right touch of repentance in it to stand down Sam's natural mothering instincts.

"Whoa Sammy, next time I tell you use by dates are just manufacturers trying to play hard to get – ignore me! Wow, feel sooo much better … relieved my …."

"Ugh dude! Whatever!" Sam's healthy aversion to toilet humour kicking in and helping Dean sell his lie. "BET it was that three day old burrito right?! Warned you about that Dean, even your cast iron stomach has to have a safety valve man!"

" Yeah right – well like I said, we have parted company." Dean slapped his brother's chest playfully as he walked past him. "What'd Bobby want?"

"I don't know Dean, it was your phone – I wasn't going to answer it."

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam as he picked up his pace to the cell in his car. Right there in that one sentence his little brother cast a light on to one of the many boundaries and walls that had grown in their time apart. Sammy was out of touch with the life they had both been raised in. His two year vacation in Stanford had left him stranded in the no mans land between normal and Dean's world. He needed to get Sammy back up to speed if they were ever going to catch up to their missing Father – because John Winchester always brought his A-game. They needed to get a few more hunts under their belts. After all Sammy was raised in the life and it really was just like falling off a bike – and scratching the shit out of your arms!

Pulling his attention back to the moment Dean punched recall and cradled the phone in one fluid motion praying that the call hadn't been an urgent cry for back up.

"Bobby?" he growled before the other man got a chance to answer.

"Why I didn't know you cared sweetheart." Bobby's voice came back teasingly. "What were you on a bathroom break and forgot your phone?"

Dean winced before offering a rather testy and telling "NO!"

A dry chuckle drifted to him and he could have sworn he heard a low rumble of "Ideit!".

Just as Dean was about to point out that Singer had in fact called him, the grizzled salvage yard owner went on in a more businesslike tone.

"Listen Junior, did you say you were close to Lawrence?"

Dean frowned. Geographically he did all he could to keep Kansas in his rear mirror along with the dark memories he knew he would never distance himself from. His recent trip back home had done little to change his view that this tactic was merely self preservation after all. But Bobby's voice brooked no half measures.

Swallowing hard to stop the tremor he answered as flatly as he could; "We can be Bobby."

"Great, I understand that you've met Missouri Mosley recently? She has been a huge help to your Daddy and myself over the years. Seemed like something was going down at her place. I need you and Sam to shag ass over there. And Dean – you mind her … she has a real heavy mixing spoon!"

Dean didn't bother asking the usual questions that would normally get asked. He could hear the familiar sounds of a medical setting in the background. Bobby was calling them in because he wasn't able right now . Still at least he was able to ask – couldn't be too critical, thankfully. He ended the call with all the economy of a soldier taking up his next commission.

"Yes Sir – copy that!"

/

Watching and waiting was the key to this whole thing. He was convinced of that as much as he was convinced about the witches guilt. But convincing that pansy Grayson that throwing rocks and Halloween scare antics were not going to be enough to get the job done here, was going to be a challenge.

He shifted back to blend into the shadows of the tree grove as he watched the object of his attentions open her door and survey the area. To his disgust Greysons' best efforts did not even have her biting her lip. It had appeared promising when they had cut the lights and watched through Grayson senior's night vision binoculars as the house's only occupant had hit the deck and dived behind the sofa. But the overly dramatic smashing of her window had, had the opposite effect. She seemed to gather herself and reclaim her courage. Who knew masonry could have that effect – maybe they should have been less subtle as he had first suggested? Why had he listened to that chicken-shit?

The branches to his left rustled and he didn't bother breaking his surveillance to acknowledge the entrance of the stocky, athletic build of Dominic Grayson. The ass had a self congratulatory smile on his face that boiled the blood and made you want to reach out and smack it off! Damn if he didn't need the brain trusts connections he'd never be slowing himself down with his inbred candy ass!

Still watching out for the bigger picture sometimes meant making deals with doorknobs! He'd have to bear Dom's inflated ego as he made the bobble head tow the line. After all any well executed plan had insurance – and that was exactly what future deputy Dominic was – an airhead air bag. Sure he had to put up with his halfwitted and quite often bigotedviews copied and regurgitated from some Oakie radio station run by Good 'Ole boys; but she deserved everything she got. And if he let Grayson think it was for some reason other than the justice that bitch deserved for what she did to his Mom – so what. Mosley had blood on her hands – his Mamma's blood.

Unlike Grayson, he did not have the attention span of a gnat in heat. No, the long, slow burning form of revenge was a dish that he was preparing for the Witch. Mosley may not have been too rattled by their first attempt – but he was a voracious learner and a fast study. The next time they acted he'd go with his instincts and a lot more homework.

"Did you see that man?!" Grayson's excitement made his voice an octave higher. "Damn I was sure she would catch me red handed!"

"Yeah – cool." came the flat answer and the equally unconvincing tight smile that dragged lips tightly over the sharp edged canines.

"You know you're right." Grayson continues missing the less than enthusiastic response of his accomplice. "She is like a disease we've let grow in our town – her voodoo black magic bullshit – well it just 'ain't right n a God fearing town ! I mean when I join the force, I'll take all those oaths to protect and serve and stuff... to protect decent folks from her people."

Smirkingly, with visions of the few too many Law and Order episodes Grayson seemed to continually be confusing his real life with, the other figure nodded and asked way too innocently.

"Her people?"

"You know – whores of Satan types! Black magic practising, baby sacrificing , curse casting Witches! Wow I know that you skipped a day or two-hundred of school there Mr Miyagi – but get a clue will you?!"

Hiding his grinding teeth with a larger more feral looking smile he said nothing and very deliberately moved his hand away from the blade he hid at his back. Unlike the pretty boy in front of him with the protruding silver spoon he knew what hardship was. Though it was true school did not always take priority when it came to those hard choices for the good of his family, he was not going to waste his breath trying to explain any of this to Dom. This alliance was a sham, a triple bluff that Dom thought he was responsible for- that was fine, the meat-head could stay out front and centre, as long as he didn't try to think too hard. Nothing and no-one was going to stop Missouri Mosley getting what was owed to her.

Dominic Grayson blinked a little startled at the wave of viciousness that seemed to pick out the planes of the shorter boys tanned skin. He'd never noticed his fellow conspirator much – well you don't really notice them do you? The quiet Chem-loving geeks that you got to do your overdue papers... he certainly had never reacted like that before! What do'ya know?! Maybe the little nerd was hitting late puberty and growing a pair – finally! By allowing the dweeb to help him run this devil loving bitch out of town – he was making a man out of him!


End file.
